A Layton Christmas Carol
by banjkazfan
Summary: Ebeneezer Chelmey has always despised Christmas, causing him to take out his worldly troubles on his sole employee, Hershel Layton. Perhaps a visit from three ghosts will change Chelmey's mind. On permanent hiatus.


**A/N**: **O**k, it's a little cheesy. Please don't hurt me for it though. I'm surprised I haven't seen it sooner…anyways, cheesy or not, here it be.  
So here's what you need to know before you read this. **Ignore all of the original relationships you know from the games; most will be rendered meaningless in this story. Ignore all timelines; time as you know from the games has been discarded.** I suppose they call that AU. There are characters from the first three games (Village up to Travel), but no spoilers aside from them.

I'm a little nervous about this, but I'll roll with it anyways. My version is kind of a hybrid of all of the different Christmas Carol stories I've seen/read.  
Thanks in advance,  
BKF

P.S. Dedicated to the lovely EvilSingingLlama for encouraging me to go through with this!

………

Ebeneezer Chelmey stalked the snow-lined streets of London, glaring at the Christmas decorations that adorned the windows for as far as the eye could see. He growled under his breath, smashing a child's snowman with his cane as he stormed by. He smirked as the child wailed, and chose to ignore the startled protests of the young girl's mother.

Oh yes, feared by all. That was just how Chelmey liked it. He loved the terrified silence that would suddenly fall across a crowd as he skulked past. Frightening people so was his favorite thing—well, his favorite thing after caring for his money, of course.

He walked past a group of over-zealous, slightly off-pitch carolers. Chelmey grimaced at their trills; this certainly irritated him. A steely glower in their direction quickly silenced the singers and they glanced about in embarrassment, trying not to meet Chelmey's eye. He let out a low chuckle as he continued upon his way.

The sound of silence. Ah, there was something Chelmey loved to hear. In his wake, only his footsteps echoed the quiet streets that bustled with far less life than when Chelmey had first passed by. Chelmey briefly paused at the steps of his counting house, glancing up at the hanging sign. The bottom half of the marker was covered in snow; Chelmey scowled as he rapped it roughly with his cane.

The snow fell, revealing the sign's full message: _Chelmey and Beluga_. Slightly less irritated now that that was cleared up, Chelmey strode up the steps and whipped open the door, the door's loud squeaks and thunks announcing his return to his sole employee.

His only employee who, to Chelmey's annoyance, was currently away from his desk and warming his hands by the fire.

"LAYTON!" Chelmey barked, scaring the younger man half to death. Hershel Layton started in surprise, sending his hole-ridden top hat to the cold, dirty floor. Layton scurried to pick it up, stammering out sentiments of apology as he hastily returned to his desk.

"M—Mr. Chelmey, sir, I'm sorry," he babbled, pulling his hat back down over his red, numb ears. "I-it simply became too cold for me to work, and I thought I would take a moment while you were away to warm my hands, and I—" A glare from Chelmey quieted his ramblings. "—and I suppose I shall just return to my work," he murmured, flexing his frozen fingers and picking up his quill to continue writing.

Chelmey shook his head, irritation clearly written on his face. He sat at his own desk and cracked open his records book, sighing as he noted the date.

"I suppose you'll be wanting the whole day then, will you?" he grumbled to Layton.

Layton bit his chapped lip, looking up hesitantly. "Well, sir…it is Christmas, you know," he murmured.

"Hah!" Chelmey barked, glaring up at Layton. "Christmas! A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every December 25th!" Layton winced, looking back down at his work. Chelmey paused before continuing. "…well, if you must," he growled. Layton's eyes lit up in a glimmer of hope before Chelmey shouted, "but be here all the earlier the next morning!"

Layton grinned. "Y-yes sir! Thank you!"

"Bah. Humbug," Chelmey muttered. He pulled his gold pouch from his belt and emptied its contents onto the table, eyes glowing with a greedy lust as he began to count the golden coins. As the numbers began to reach up into higher numbers, a sudden rapping on the door interrupted Chelmey's counting. He paused, eyebrow twitching in irritation. Layton momentarily looked up.

"Sir…shall I—?"

"You'll do no such thing," Chelmey snarled, shoving his chair back and stalking over to the door. He yanked it open and glared at the two visitors.

"Good afternoon," the shorter one greeted. He had a portly sort of stature, with a brown bowl-cut and matching mustache, the latter of which was hiding under a large, round nose. His partner was a taller, lankier man with a very voluminous, light-brown haircut. "Have we the honor of speaking with Mr. Chelmey or Mr. Beluga?"

Chelmey's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

The other man stepped in. "Man, he asked if we were talkin' to Chelmey or Beluga…y'know, like of 'Chelmey and Beluga'…?"

Chelmey cleared his throat in irritation. "And who might you be?"

"Ah, yes," the shorter man chuckled. "Forgive my rudeness. I am Stachenscarfen, and this is my associate, Sammy, ah…Thunder. We are going about requesting donations, as is custom during the Christmas season. Now, again I ask, have we the honor of speaking with Mr. Chelmey or Mr. Beluga?"

Chelmey let out a bitter laugh. "Mr. Beluga has been dead these seven Christmases past."

"Ah, my apologies," Stachenscarfen said with a slight incline of his head. "However, I am sure that his company is being well cared for by his living associate."

Sammy re-inserted himself into the conversation at this point. "Yeah, and I'm sure he'd want his money to go to a worthy cause, like ours," he said with a grin. "We're helping to build homes for people who have nowhere else to go."

Chelmey glared at him. "Are the workhouses still in operation?"

Stachenscarfen narrowed his eyes. "They are, though I wish I could say that they were not," he said. "What shall we put you down for?" He pulled out a small notebook, giving Chelmey an expectant look.

There was a pregnant pause before Chelmey answered. "Nothing."

"…you…wish to remain anonymous?" Stachenscarfen questioned, a confused look on his face.

"I wish to be left alone!" Chelmey shouted, seizing the two men by their collars and hauling them into the streets. Layton stood hurriedly, his stool clattering to the ground as he stared in horror at his employer.

"Aww, come on, man!" Sammy moaned, picking himself and Stachenscarfen up from the snow. "It's for the kids!"

Chelmey slammed the door, whipping around to pierce Layton with a threatening look. No words were needed; the younger man clearly understood the unspoken message and he quickly picked himself back up and righted his stool, returning silently to his work. Chelmey ground his teeth in irritation before storming back into his own office to continue his counting.


End file.
